


Honeying

by Saucery



Series: Space Husbands [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Aphrodisiacs, Awkwardness, Biting, Bottom Poe, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug-Induced Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Filthy, Finn Topping The Hell Outta Poe, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Guilt, Happy Ending, Honeymoon, Hotel Sex, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Kink, Mild Painplay, Morning After, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Sexual Fantasy, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Sleeping Together, Tropes, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe and Finn get married without even knowing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeying

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by the phrase “honeying and making love” from Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_.

* * *

 

“Well?” Finn asked, from where he was liberating a weird purple beverage from the minibar. Hey, he was a Rebel, now. Liberating was what he did. “Have they said why we can’t have separate rooms?”

“Uh. Yeah. So.” Poe, who had just visited the reception, closed the door behind himself. “We might’ve gotten married. By accident.”

Finn choked on a sip of his drink. Five minutes later, he finished coughing up a metaphorical lung. “Wh-what?” he wheezed, eyes watering.

“Only according to the Rezarians!” Poe fidgeted, blushing. “They think we’re married. Since I, um, gave you your name. It’s a thing people apparently do at weddings, here. And they, er. They think this is our honeymoon.”

“At least that explains the flowers on our bed,” Finn said, with an incredulous sort of horror. “Speaking of, this is _our_ bed. Ours. As in, we’re gonna have to share it. You don’t kick in your sleep, do you?”

“I... might?”

“Great.”

“As far as Rezarian law goes, a honeymoon is a sacred time in which souls are joined, or something. And since it’s so sacred, faking a marriage is illegal and punishable by death.”

“By death?” Finn goggled. “But why would anyone fake a marriage?”

“Inheritance claims. Voter fraud. Identity theft. The list goes on, and the Rezarians are kinda hardcore about it. If we don’t want to scandalize them and end up publicly beheaded—”

“Beheaded?” Finn all but squeaked.

“—then we’d better be a convincing couple.”

Finn and Poe stared at each other. Then, they stared at the bed.

“Right,” Finn said, weakly. “I hope you’re not allergic to alien flower-pollen, because we’re gonna be sleeping on flowers. Together.” He rubbed his forehead, positive that he was getting a headache from the overpowering floral odor of the room.

“We can sweep the petals to the floor.”

“And have next morning’s room service questioning why we didn’t want to consummate our infinite love for each other in a bower full of heart-shaped blossoms?” Finn squinted at the bed. “They really _are_ heart-shaped. Force save us.”

When Finn looked up, Poe was strangely red in the face. “That’s,” Poe mumbled. “Ridiculous, ain’t it? Infinite love. Ha, ha. Sounds like a holovid.”

“This bizarre situation is like one of those corny holovids BB-8’s addicted to. I wish I hadn’t stupidly given the actual origin of my name on that damned booking questionnaire.”

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s an impossible ruse. It even fits in with the whole tourists-on-Rezar story we’ve got going, to justify our being here. Many tourists are honeymooners, aren’t they? We can pull this off for a day or two, until we meet our contact.”

“Trouble is, people expect us to pull _each other_ off.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I’mma take a shower,” Poe said, still covered in dust from the rocky landing they’d had in the Rezarian desert, earlier that day. “You?”

“I’m going to get progressively drunker on what I presume are alcoholic drinks.” Finn peered at the tiny purple bottle. “Tastes like turpentine, but it should do the job. Eventually.”

“Just don’t poison yourself with Rezarian brandy. We can’t assume it won’t kill our species.”

“Bullshit,” Finn said. “Rezar wouldn’t be the third largest trading-post in the galaxy if tourists died in its hotels. Especially newlyweds in their honeymoon suites. It’d give the planet a bad rap.”

“If you say so,” Poe said dubiously, like the mother hen he absolutely was, and disappeared into the bathroom. It must be all that parenting he did with BB-8.

 

* * *

 

However many centuries later, Finn woke with a pounding headache on the hotel’s faux fur carpet, wondering what creature that goddamn sneeze-inducing fur was supposed to belong to, and why a naked Poe Dameron was leaning over him.

Wait. No. Half-naked. Poe had a towel wrapped around his waist, but the rest of him was dressed in nothing but a dewy sheen of water droplets that glittered like jewels, and Finn... Finn could smell a tangy, orange-y aroma emanating from Poe. Like an olfactory halo. Bright and pleasant and inviting. Finn’s hungover brain irrationally focused on that tanginess, and on whether Poe would also taste tangy, were Finn to press his mouth to Poe’s damp skin.

Huh?

Finn shook his head to clear it.

“You passed out,” Poe supplied, helpfully.

“Gee, thanks,” Finn muttered, and accepted the hand Poe offered him. Finn stumbled to his feet and right into Poe, whose semi-nudity was a lot more overwhelming when plastered directly against Finn.

“It’s only been about twenty minutes since you started drinking. It told you to hold back on the brandy.”

“It wasn’t brandy,” Finn said, drunk-solemnly. “It was a brew. An evil brew. From the Dark Side.”

Poe snorted. “And that’s why I nearly fainted of shock when I came outta that shower to see you lying on the ground like someone had run a lightsaber through you and left you for dead.”

“An honorable death in battle would be preferable to death by...” Finn cast about. “...inappropriate thoughts.”

Poe blinked. “What inappropriate thoughts?”

“You smell nice,” Finn said, and when Poe made a strangled noise, Finn continued: “You do.” He sniffed. “Mm. Like a giant, sexy citrus fruit.”

Poe blinked again. And again. “Okay,” he said slowly, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, because you’re obviously intoxicated, and I’m obviously hallucinating.” Poe shepherded Finn toward the bed. “Sleep it off. You can shower tomorrow. I wouldn’t trust you not to concuss yourself against the taps in this condition.”

“You could come in with me. Keep an eye on me.”

“What?” Poe yelped. “No! I’m your pilot, Finn, not your... best friend who watches you bathe.”

“You’re m’ husband,” Finn reminded Poe, in his smuggest tone, and Poe, inexplicably, pinched himself.

“Still hallucinating,” he said grimly, and propelled Finn to the bed, where Finn collapsed, groaning, clutching his aching skull.

“Wanna shower,” Finn said petulantly, feeling the collar of his jacket—Poe’s jacket—their jacket—chafing his sweaty nape. Why was he sweating? The room was cooled by draughts from a glassless window.

“No. Just lie there.”

Finn heard a rustling of fabric, and then the bed dipped, the mattress rolling him against a firm, familiar body, clad in what felt like a slippery bathrobe.

“Here, fishy-fishy,” he rambled incoherently into Poe’s collarbone, his fingers thick and clumsy on Poe’s slim, silk-clad hips. “Lemme catch you.”

A few more strangled noises later, Poe gingerly extricated himself from Finn’s drunken embrace and planted a fluffy pillow between them.

“Unfair,” Finn complained.

“No,” Poe said, clipped and annoyed, “what’s unfair is what _you’re_ doing. You big, dumb man-kitten. Now, stop pawing at me and sleep.”

Against the odds and barricaded from his new favorite scent, Finn slept.

 

* * *

 

Finn’s second awakening was twice as redolent as the first. Perhaps that was because his nose was buried in Poe’s neck, with Poe’s sweet breath on his hair. Finn’s jacket had been unwittingly discarded sometime in the night, leaving him in his sleeveless shirt. He curled around Poe, with an inchoate, formless intention of getting even closer, and dizzily realized he was hard.

So was Poe.

There was a liquid haze pouring itself like honey over Finn’s consciousness, smothering any attempt at rationality. There were petals crushed beneath him and sticky against his bare arms, oozing an incense-like moisture that gave off a heady, befuddling perfume. With every inhale, Finn grew warmer and clammier in his clothing. Poe’s thin gown was stuck to Poe, as well, and to Finn. They were glued to one another, drenched in perspiration.

Finn rocked, instinctive and automatic, and Poe gasped quietly, his eyelashes fluttering against Finn’s forehead. It was too dark to see if Poe was waking up, but he could feel Poe surfacing from sleep, stirring in restless circles that ground him against Finn.

“Wh…” Poe’s voice hitched, and his hands—strong and sinewy from working his X-wing’s controls—landed on Finn’s shoulders. He pushed, or maybe pulled. It was difficult to tell. “Wha—Finn?”

“Give… gimme.” Finn’s words were tangled and unwieldy, and he didn’t know what he was asking for, except that it was more. Of Poe. He dragged his tongue along Poe’s throat, in what must have been a searing stripe, because Poe shuddered.

“N-no,” Poe said. “Finn, you can’t…”

But Finn was urging Poe onto his back, and Poe was letting him, and somehow Finn’s tongue had found Poe’s mouth, which was hot and soft and slick, and Finn was doing some shuddering of his own. His heartbeat pounded in his temples, a deafening war-drum that had him going wild, feral, hungry.

“I wanna come,” Finn slurred against Poe’s jaw, hoarsely, almost angrily. “Wanna come all over you.”

“Oh,” said Poe. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Poe’s legs spread, and Finn’s mind went totally blank, because the bathrobe fell open as Poe’s thighs lifted to bracket Finn’s waist. And Finn knew that Poe was only slightly shorter than him, but Finn felt huge, pinning Poe down like this, hurting Poe because Poe no longer had cloth to shield his erection from the rough rasp of Finn’s trousers, from the metal catch of Finn’s fly.

Finn didn’t want to hurt Poe. He didn’t, so why—

Why did it feel so fucking good?

It must’ve been good for Poe, too, because Poe had begun babbling, in broken-off, pleading phrases that never quite managed to make sense before lapsing into whimpers. He scrabbled at Finn, reaching down to fumble with Finn’s trousers before unzipping them, tugging frantically at Finn’s underwear, which was sodden with pre-come. Finn’s cock sprang free, heavy and swollen, slapping wetly against Poe’s abdomen.

Finn jerked, the air punched out of his lungs by a sensation so sharp he could’ve cut himself on it. He lurched downward until his dick skidded along Poe’s, and Poe practically jackknifed off the bed, grabbing at Finn’s shoulders again.

“P-please. Fuck—fuck m—” Poe didn’t complete the sentence, but it completed itself in Finn’s psyche and drove him mad with image after image, so crystalline and so perfect that it was as though Finn’s subconscious had been dreaming them up, all along: Poe on all fours, face-down and begging for it; Poe smiling and in nothing but a tank-top, stroking himself lazily for Finn to watch; Poe lubing himself up and lowering himself onto Finn’s cock; Poe _taking_  it, everything Finn had to give to him, and more.

They were fucking now, even though Finn wasn’t inside Poe—there was no other term for it, for the mindless, powerful surging of their bodies. They weren’t in-sync but it didn’t matter, not when Finn tore Poe’s hands off Finn and held them against the bed, the bones in Poe’s wrists grinding in Finn’s grasp, until Poe had to lie there and let Finn rut against him to a rhythm that worked.

“Do it,” Poe was saying deliriously. “Do it. Come. Come all over me, you _promised_ —”

And Finn did, whispering to Poe about every single scenario he’d imagined, licking up to Poe’s ear and biting the lobe. Viciously.

Poe _screamed_ , his spine arching, his head snapping back and hitting the pillow. His semen splattered against Finn’s cock, and Finn came with his teeth sinking into the juncture of Poe’s neck, making Poe jolt and moan in a ragged, greedy gurgle. Poe wasn’t done pulsing against him, and it seemed to go on and on, waves of heat crashing through Finn and finding their echo in Poe, who returned them in gradually slowing undulations, until they were panting into each other’s mouths, bites turning into kisses turning into a tired, sleepy mashing of lips.

Finn was shivering, like he was in shock, or like he was in withdrawal. Poe’s arms were around him. Comforting him. And Poe was murmuring what might’ve been reassurances, but they sounded more like—

Finn never figured out what they sounded like, because his limbs were sluggish with exhaustion, and he was asleep before he could ask if Poe was all right.

 

* * *

 

Poe was definitely not all right.

That was all Finn could be sure of, the following morning, because he wasn’t even sure that last night had actually happened. Remembering it was like remembering an out-of-body experience; it didn’t feel real. Finn was partly horrified that he’d treated Poe like that, and partly worried that Poe would hate him forever, and partly amazed that he’d probably been desiring Poe sexually for the past three years, ever since he’d joined the Rebellion.

Force, he was no better than an oblivious nerf-herder. No wonder Poe was acting so spooked, if he hadn’t been desiring Finn in the same way. And Finn had just—had just steamrolled him. Hadn’t Poe said “no,” for a second there? Finn vaguely recalled an instance like that, and it made him go cold, like a bucket of ice water had been upended over him.

He was worse than a nerf-herder. He’d committed assault. And he was going to apologize to Poe as soon as Poe emerged from the bathroom where he had ostensibly been hiding for the previous forty-five minutes, even if Finn didn’t deserve forgiveness. Finn would assure Poe that he’d get General Organa to reassign him to another pilot, and that he wouldn’t touch Poe again. He wouldn’t so much as look at Poe again.

The mere notion of losing Poe rang hollowly within Finn, like a death-knell. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t possibly stay with Poe after that. After that bestial, horrible attack. The truth was, Finn couldn’t even understand what had driven him to… to…

And if he didn’t understand, that meant he could do it again. Poe wasn’t safe from him. Finn’s own _sanity_  wasn’t safe from him.

Poe finally reemerged into the bedroom, back in his bathrobe, its collar flipped up to hide the bruise Finn had left on him. His fingertips were wrinkled from excess water and his hair was a glossy mess, and he looked—

He looked beautiful. So damn beautiful.

And vulnerable.

And afraid.

It broke Finn’s heart. That must be what was crumbling within him, as if the shape of something tentative and carefully-built, shored up by years of small, hopeful emotions, was falling apart.

“I’m—” Finn began, but Poe quickly interjected.

“I’ll…” Poe tightened the belt of his robe and didn’t meet Finn’s eyes. “I’ll just… get my clothes. And I’m—” Poe’s gaze flashed to his, guilty and furtive. “I’m—oh, Force, Finn.” Poe folded sideways onto the chair in front of the dresser, as if his legs had lost all their strength, and covered his face. “I’m so sorry.” It was more of a sob than a statement.

Finn boggled. “ _You’re_ sorry? Poe, I’m the one who…”

“No. No, you’re not. You didn’t even—you weren’t even aware of what you were doing. You were high on that purple booze from hell, and I could’ve shoved you off of me, but I didn’t. I clung to you like the desperate, dirty wretch I am, because I wasn’t man enough to say no.”

“You did say no. I didn’t listen. It was my fault—”

“I’ve been wanting you since I laid eyes on you,” Poe declared, abruptly.

And Finn shut up. When his vocal chords recovered from that bombshell, he shakily said: “Say what?”

“I’ve been fucking myself with my fingers every day I’ve been on a mission with you, picturing you fucking me, instead. I take long showers not because I like long showers, but because I need to get my act together, so you can’t guess that the reason I’m flushed is because I just had an orgasm.”

Finn…

Finn’s brain had checked out and left a note to explain its absence. A note composed entirely of exclamation marks.

He sat unsteadily on the edge of the bed. The bed on which he’d had sex. With Poe. With Poe, who’d always been fantasizing about having sex with him?

What?

“That still,” Finn struggled on, because he had a point to prove, here, “that still doesn’t make it okay for me to—to—”

“To give me exactly what I want?”

And just like that, Finn’s brain was back online, but only because it’d literally been defibrillated, and because it was busy churning out pornographic possibility after possibility, like an overeager secretary piling files on a boss’s desk.

Poe wanted. Poe _wanted_ …

Their sudden and unwinnable staring contest was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Room service!” chirped a female Rezarian in subtly accented Basic, and Poe absently said, “Enter,” causing Finn’s brain to flounder some more. Entering wasn’t what he should be focusing on. He should be focusing on whether he’d taken advantage of Poe or not.

The Rezarian clopped in on hooves that had been painted lilac—like painted nails?—and cheerfully set a tray full of steaming, multi-colored bowls down on the small dining table. She beamed at Poe, then at Finn, and it wasn’t until Finn noticed her flaring nostrils that it struck him that, given the Rezarians’ highly developed senses, she could _smell that they’d had sex_. How mortifying.

“So.” She winked. “How was your Honeying?”

“Our what?” Finn asked, nonplussed.

“Ah, silly me, I forgot you’re off-worlders! Considering you took so well to the aphrodisiacs.”

“The aphrodisiacs,” Poe said flatly.

“Yes, they’re everywhere! The petals are from the Lustflower, and the wines and alcohols in the cooler are all… how shall we say, enabling.”

“Enabling,” Poe repeated, just as flatly. His eyebrows had lowered in a stern expression that usually boded ill for those that encountered it, but the Rezarian blathered on, unconcerned.

“Honeying helps nervous couples along, especially if they’re virgins, or if they’re tired after a wedding that’s gone on forever. Did yours go on forever?”

“It was positively eternal,” Poe replied, dry as Tatooine on a sunny day, while Finn tried to wrap his mind around the concept of _marrying Finn_. Properly, and not just undercover. Best. Idea. Ever. Why didn’t he think of that? It solved everything!

“I’m so glad we had a Honeying Suite free for you. You’re a lovely pair. And now you’ve bonded, body and soul. How wonderful! Allow us to congratulate you by serving you breakfast on the house.” She gestured at the tray with a sweeping flourish, as if it were laden with gems. “Each bowl is a soup or a porridge or a broth, designed to be light on your stomachs, because the Lustflower can be harsh on tummies, the morning after!”

“Tummies,” Poe echoed, muffled. He was covering his face again.

“Good luck to you both!”

The Rezarian left, evidently satisfied, taking her lilac hooves with her.

“Um,” Finn said, “I wasn’t just into it because of the Lustflower. I was… I was into you. I _am_ into you. I’ve been into you.”

“Don’t,” Poe said, uncovering his features, which were twisted in a mixture of pain and hope. “Don’t make it a pity fuck. It was an accident.”

“A sexual accident?”

“It was unintentional,” Poe persisted, so frustrated that he compulsively tied and re-tied his gown’s belt. “We were exposed to aphrodisiacs to varying degrees, you more than I. Neither of us were capable of consent. We wound up in bed, but we didn’t mean to wind up there. We should forget it ever—”

“I don’t want to forget!” Finn exclaimed.

“And I don’t want you making it into more than what it was. We aren’t married in reality.”

“Maybe we should be.”

“Shit,” Poe said, tremulously. His features untwisted, then twisted once more. “I can’t. I can’t take this, Finn. Don’t do this to me.”

“Do what to you?” Finn asked, as gently as he could. He got up and approached Poe, kneeling on the floor in front of Poe’s chair, taking Poe’s trembling hands in his. “Marry you?”

“You’re being ridiculous. It was an aphrodisiac-fueled orgy, not a holy covenant between fated souls. Or whatever the Rezarians would call it.”

“Orgy?” Finn said, amused. “Doesn’t that involve more people?”

“I’d kill those other people,” Poe growled. “If they took to sniffing around you.”

Wow. “You’re scary,” Finn said, “but it’s a sexy scary. I still, er. Wanna do those things. That I said I wanted to do. Yesterday. So it can’t be the aphrodisiacs.”

“It could be an after-effect of the aphrodisiacs. They remain in this room, even if they’re depleted.”

“Then we can walk back to our shuttle and fuck in the cockpit.”

“In the—”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought of it. Like, a million times.”

“Fine, I’ve often dreamt of you fucking me in the cockpit of my X-wing. The shuttle will have to do, for now.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“That’s the _lunacy_.”

Finn smirked. “We can get married on Rezar, today. Legally, genuinely married. When our contact arrives, we can say he’s a friend we’ve called in to witness a special Rezarian version of our wedding, because our honeymoon is basically us going to popular planets and getting married as per every custom there is. We can even get the hotel staff to holorecord the ceremony for us!”

Poe gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“C’mon! It’s a credible backstory!”

“I’ll kick you in your credible backside if you insist on marrying me the day after being subjected to alien aphrodisiacs.”

“I don’t reckon you will,” Finn said, hushed and happy and certain, kissing each of Poe’s knuckles tenderly, lingeringly. “It’s just occurring to me that we may have already been married for three years. It’s time to make it official, that’s all.”

Poe didn’t try to free his hands. He kept them where they were, fingers twining with Finn’s. “Don’t blame me when we end up divorcing within seventy-two hours.”

“I doubt that ‘divorcing’ is what we’ll be doing, to be honest.”

“And what will we be doing?”

“Honeying,” Finn said, and grinned.

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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